


A Shirt, A Flirt, and a Rather Scumptious Dessert

by Ladderofyears



Series: Domesticity [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Dating, Dirty Talk, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Family Feels, Happy Ending, M/M, Orgasm, POV Draco Malfoy, Restaurants, Rimming, Waiters & Waitresses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-19
Updated: 2019-03-19
Packaged: 2019-11-24 15:34:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18166973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladderofyears/pseuds/Ladderofyears
Summary: Harry and Draco have been married nearly ten years and have two sons. Luckily for Draco, it's the one night of the month when both boys sleep over at the Weasleys. Their night is nearly upended however, when their waiter decides to flirt  with Harry.Will Draco's jealousy get the better of him, or can their date night still be saved?





	A Shirt, A Flirt, and a Rather Scumptious Dessert

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PollyWeasley](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PollyWeasley/gifts).



> For my darling PollyWeasley who supports me everyday like an absolute trooper, and is both a fantastic writer, and a beautiful person. You came up with all these ideas, so this is as much your story as mine. Love you loads my darling!

Draco bound out of the shower, and looped a towel around his hips. 

Muttering a quick spell to clear the steam from the room, he examined himself critically in the mirror. His skin was still pink and shower fresh, and despite the two children he’d carried to term, Draco decided his figure still looked petty good. Perhaps he wasn’t as skinny as he’d been in his twenties, but Harry claimed to love his softer lines, and the warmer, more present feel of Draco’s skin. 

As the years had passed Draco’s scars had faded to near invisibility, and really only the dark smudge of his forearm marred the reflection in front of him. The Malfoy family had the particular blessing of never going grey either; their blond hair faded to white as the years passed. Draco checked his strands carefully, but pleasingly they remained the same platinum blond as when he’d been seventeen.

Murmuring a quick drying spell, Draco looped his long hair into a crisp plait at the nape of his neck, noting with amusement the sparkle of his grey eyes, and his wide smile. 

Really, it was unbecoming for a Malfoy to be _quite_ this excited about a date night, but Draco simply couldn’t help himself. This was the one night a month when their sons infiltrated the Weasley household for their monthly sleepover. Draco could usually convince his beloved Harry to dress up in his most formal clothes, and eat out like the adults they supposed themselves to be. 

And, if he were being honest with himself, himself, Draco loved the ritual of getting ready almost as much as the date itself. 

Harry liked him wearing the grey wool trousers that skimmed over his thighs like a second skin, and Draco shimmied into those specially, feeling happy with his svelte silhouette. Perhaps, if he combined those with the midnight blue silk shirt that he’d been saving for just such a special occasion, then tonight might be memorable for more reasons than simply the luxurious cuisine, and the rare experience of adult conversation. 

Biting his lip in anticipation, Draco charmed the creases out of the shirt and tucked it tidily into his trousers. If the night ended the way he _hoped_ , it would be Harry’s deft fingers undoing the shirt buttons, and they could spend pleasurable hours reacquainting themselves with each other. The pure bliss that was time with no other company than Harry stretched in front of Draco, and he felt determined not to waste a singe one iota of it. 

Happy with his reflection, Draco lounged on the bed to wait for Harry to apparate home. 

////

A silent home was a luxury, and Draco closed his eyes enjoying a rare moment without a child demanding drinks, a story or the _accio_ of a much-loved toy. All Draco had to do now was wait for Harry to come home, get changed and then they’d heading to _Epicure_ , a Muggle restaurant that was within walking distance of their north London home. 

Despite their marriage of nearly ten years, and the birth of their two boys, Harry and Draco’s relationship was still a little too much for some elements of the Wizarding world to accept. _Far better_ , Draco felt, _to eat away from their prying eyes_. At _Epicure_ both he and Harry could relax, and not worry once about featuring on the cover of the _Prophe_ t the following day. Coincidentally, the food was delicious. 

Draco was roused from his daydreaming by the pop of Harry apparating into their lounge. Not wanting to move quite yet, Draco just lay there; enjoying the rustling and muttered spells that marked his husband hanging up his Auror uniform, and decisively packing away his kit for the weekend. Draco muttered a word of thanks to Merlin, and other associated deities for the safe return of his husband, before reluctantly pulling himself up off the bedsheets. 

Before they did anything else, Draco wanted to give his husband the biggest kiss to welcome in the weekend. 

////

“No. Merlin! Harry, you’d have thought our mere _association_ might have improved your sartorial choices. You’re not actually intending to wear those together? We’re going out to a _restaurant_ , not a bloody chip van! Mother always _did_ say you’d-”

Draco was broken off mid-flow by the offending shirt, which Harry had taken off, and flung directly at his head. 

Harry’s broad smile at Draco’s welcoming kiss had been replaced with a tight look of annoyance. Draco wasn’t about to be put off, though. It wasn’t his fault that Harry had all the fashion sense of a _bloody scarecrow_ , and thought his usual attire of black jeans and shirt was good enough. It was bad enough that Harry had eschewed a shower for a _Scourgify_ charm. 

“Yes, actually, I had been planning to, Draco! Bloody hell, what was wrong with it? Next month, I promise you we _will_ be going to the bloody chip van if this is how you behave...”

“What exactly was _right_ with it? You know I wouldn’t _ever_ normally comment on your attire but this is our one date night of the month. I just want it to be special…” Draco searched though the hangers in Harry’s wardrobe, appraising and rejecting all of the black shirts that Harry appeared to have created using a Doubling Charm. “How _can_ one man have so many identical shirts?”

“I just don’t quite have your fancy tastes” Harry smirked, laying down on the bed. “What’s the problem? Just pick something-” 

“But it’s our date night! I can’t _just_ pick something. It has to be special. I want everyone in _Epicure_ wishing _they_ could take you home…” Draco gave up, the multitude of black shirts quite defeating him. “Where’s your burgundy shirt? The one I moaned about because it was so offensively Gryffindor? I know its here somewhere-” 

“Draco, that shirt was offensively tight, and you _know_ I hate the feel of clothes that have been extended magically. I threw it away a month or so ago-” 

“And I rescued it. Its a crime not to show off a figure like yours, Harry. I remember now…” Draco murmured a quick _accio_ , and the offending shirt flew into his hands from where he had hidden it in a drawer. He threw the shirt at Harry. “Put that on, love. We’ll be late otherwise-” 

“I’m _not_ wearing it, Draco. Its practically obscene. It doesn’t leave anything to the imagination” Harry folded his arms over his chest, and Draco thought his big, scary Auror husband was doing an admirable job of trying to look serious. 

As if Harry had any choice in such matters when Draco had already made up his mind. 

“Put the shirt on, Harry,” beseeched Draco, knowing that he had already won the battle. “And I won’t even need to _eat_ anything at the restaurant. I’ll be feasting my eyes on you the entire time we’re there. I’ll be so famished by the time we get home that I’ll be forced to devour you whole...” 

“Promises, promises...” Harry laughed at Draco’s blatant wheedling, and buttoned up the shirt slowly, putting on a bit of a show for his husband. 

Draco thought privately that it looked more sheer than _even_ he remembered, but he wasn’t about to tell Harry that. He contented himself with batting his eyelashes in Harry’s direction, not wanting to risk any further dalliance. If they didn’t leave there and then, they never would, and Draco had been looking forward to this dinner date for days. 

//// 

Even so, they arrived at _Epicure_ ten minutes late, because Draco hadn’t been able to resist pulling Harry into an alleyway two streets away from their home. 

Honestly, how could he be expected to resist, when his husband was _right there_ , and wearing nothing but an outrageously sheer shirt on a balmy spring evening? Harry’s lips had felt wonderful beneath his; warm and yielding. Draco had elated in the feel of Harry’s tongue against his; the flickering and teasing and sheer _unpredictability_ of Harry’s kisses. Even after all these years, Harry still had the ability to take Draco’s breath away, and even just the sight of his celadon-green eyes could make Draco feel like they were the only couple left on the earth. 

Draco had found himself deepening their kiss almost unconsciously, his hands snaking around his shoulders, and he’d revelled in the hard muscles he’d felt under his fingertips. When they’d pulled apart, they’d both been panting, and Harry’s face hadn’t been far from the colour of his shirt. Of course Draco couldn’t _help_ but tease him with whispers of what they’d do with their long hours alone. After all, it wasn’t his fault that Harry flushed such a fabulous shade of pink. 

The restaurant was as busy as always. Draco could scarcely believe the Muggles who ran it didn’t have a least one wizard grandparent between them, because their menu was positively enchanting. Every dish was exquisite; elegant and rich, and the food combinations surprised even his refined palate. Luckily, their table was already ready and their waiter for the evening ushered them both over. 

Draco wondered momentarily at the strange ways of the Muggles. 

_Honestly_ , if this young man was part of their world, he’d still be at Hogwarts playing Exploding bloody Snap! As it was, this extremely youthful (and Draco was loathe to admit, extremely _comely_ ) individual was giving _his_ Harry a very broad smile. 

Draco moved to pull the chair out for his husband, but the waiter got in there first. _Harry really was far too accommodating_ , Draco thought, as his husband accepted the offered seat with a cheerful shrug of his shoulders. 

“Bonjour messieurs! My name is Marcel, and I’ll be your waiter tonight. Would Sirs like to hear what the Chef’s Specials are this evening?” 

Marcel’s voice was _gratingly_ pleasant to Draco’s ears. His accent was the velvety Parisian that Draco associated with the dirty weekends Harry and he had shared in his _Rue de Seine_ apartment before their eldest, Jamie, was born. Of course, Pansy was living there now, and Draco’s dirty weekends consisted of washing his son’s football kits. 

And even more annoyingly, Marcel might have been addressing them both, but his attention was _entirely focussed_ on Harry, and that damned shirt. For the life of him, Draco couldn’t understand why he’d insisted Harry wear the bloody thing. 

Draco coughed pointedly, although embarrassingly the noise sounded rather too much like a wheeze. The noise alerted Marcel’s attention to his existence, and their waiter reluctantly unlocked his gaze from Harry’s green eyes to swivel over to him. 

“I think we’ll just browse the menu, _Mon cher_?” Draco said to Harry, regretting the endearment just as soon as it had left his mouth. He could already see the mirth radiating from his husband, and the quirk of a grin forming at his lips. Harry could be a terrible flirt when it came to Draco speaking French, which he sometimes found himself doing without realising. 

“But of course, _Mon beau_ ” Harry smoothly replied, in what they both knew was an _atrocious_ accent. Still, Draco couldn’t help but be impressed that his husband knew the word for handsome. Harry turned his attention back to Marcel. “I think we’ll just see the wine list, please.” 

As their waiter left their table, Harry reached over and stroked Draco’s fingers with his own. 

His husbands hands were rough and calloused, and the surprisingly tender caress left Draco shivering. “Your French accent still sounds divine,” Harry teased, his voice seductive and his fingers moving downwards to trace light circles on Draco’s forearms. “ _Mon cher_ … When you talk like that… It reminds me of all those lazy days in Paris where we’d never leave our bed-” 

“-And now we’re lucky to get one night a month to eat a meal together,” Draco grumbled, mollified a little by Harry’s touches. “Sometimes I wish we could have our time back… And my _figure_ -” 

“Draco, I wouldn’t swap our lives now for anything. And you, well… You look more ravishing than ever. And you look after our boys so wonderfully. They are growing into such smashing young men. That’s all down to you, love.” 

Harry turned to Marcel who had just returned with the wine list. “The _Cabernet Sauvignon_ ,” he said decisively. “Scrumptious, fine-bodied and expensive. That should suit you perfectly, Draco.” 

Draco watched as Marcel took the wine list back, and was dismayed to see Marcel’s hand brush against his husbands. Harry, of course, smiled serenely at their waiter, his face wearing its usual picture of innocent oblivion. 

//// 

Twenty minutes later, and Draco’s mood had improved considerably. 

He’d made sure to flash his wedding ring when holding up his wine glass to be refilled. And when that had failed, he’d had to resort to asking for _Cote de Veau aux Morilles_ for both himself, _and his husband, merci_. Nothing, however had amused Draco as much as the sticking spell that he’d used to bind his waiter’s pencil to his fingers. 

Draco was aware it was terribly illegal, but really, it was only for a matter of _seconds_ and the look on Marcel’s face had been _priceless_. Marriage to the Head Auror surely had to have some perks, surely? 

“Are you going to tell me what that was about Draco?” Harry had hissed as Marcel walked away from their table, his face still rather confused. “And _before_ you pout, and say _oh nothing_ , remember my Legililmens skills are _far better_ than when I was seventeen. Plus, you’re a bloody awful liar.” 

Draco had shrugged, pouting anyway. 

Harry didn’t need any further evidence of the jealous and covetous nature of Malfoy men, living with three of them as he did. Right at that point Draco was quite close to showing Harry, and the rest of _Epicure_ just exactly who Harry belonged to, and damn the consequences. 

“Frankly, Harry, I’m at a loss to understand how you’ve risen to the rank you have… Its _obviously_ escaped your notice, but our waiter had been flirting with you _all evening_. Such shameless behaviour, really-” 

“Well, I’m a charming man, wearing a nearly translucent shirt,” Harry had replied, leaning back in his chair, trying hard not to laugh. “Always with the jealousy Draco? You’re completely ridiculous. How could I even think about anyone else when I have you in front of me? I have never, in my life seen another person who is quite as perfect as you. So can we _please_ enjoy the rest of our night without any more illegal magic?” 

Draco had scoffed, feeling conciliatory. “Alright. But you can’t wear that shirt again...” 

“I’ll drink to that!” Harry had replied, raising his glass. “I don’t intend for it to stay on for one moment longer than necessary after we return home anyway.” 

//// 

And for the rest of their dinner, Harry’s eyes had never left Draco. 

When their dessert had arrived, a luscious _Apricot and Cointreau soufflé_ , Harry picked up the spoon and had started to feed Draco tiny pieces of the subtle, delicate dish. It was behaviour that neither he nor Harry could have indulged in were they on Diagon Alley, at least without ending up on the front of the _Prophet_ , so it felt both terribly elicit, and really quite thrilling. 

With every mouthful, Harry shifted himself closer, his body a solid presence next to Draco’s more willowy form. His heated glances made Draco’s body shiver with want, and a warmth ignite in all his sensitive places. 

“Honestly, Harry,” Draco had murmured, between bites, “you know I shouldn’t… Puddings stick to my thighs like bloody hexes-” 

“Again with the self-deprecation. _Hush_ … You’re a work of art. You’ve really no idea just how beautiful you truly are-” 

And then Harry had leant over and kissed Draco, right in the middle of _Epicure_. 

He’d pressed his mouth fully against Draco’s own, Harry’s hand knotting up his tidy braid and pulling him close. Draco could feel the rough skin of Harry’s chin against his own clean-shaven face. He could smell the sweet aroma of the _Scourgify_ charm, and the deeper, more masculine scent beneath that was Harry himself. 

And Harry, _only_ Harry was able to make Draco lose himself like this. 

_Such_ a breach of propriety, but Draco couldn’t help himself, leaning further into the embrace and letting all his small jealousies, his worries and his stresses disappear, evaporate like they’d never even been. Draco could feel the shudder of his heart, their surroundings forgotten as Harry filled all of his senses. Harry broke the kiss; pulling away from Draco, and summoning Marcel over to them in one fluid movement. 

Looking every inch the imperturbable Auror, his husband asked directly for the bill. “As soon as you can. We’re needed at home as a matter of urgency, _s’il vous plait_ ”. 

And, really, Draco couldn’t help but laugh. Harry’s French accent was _dreadful_. 

//// 

Draco pushed Harry against the door the very moment it had closed. 

Much as he’d have loved to apparate straight to their bed, the streets had been far too busy with happy Muggle Londoners enjoying their Friday evening, and neither he nor Harry had dared risk it. 

Draco’s whole body had thrummed with desire the entire walk home. Neither man had spoken; they’d been entirely set on returning their bodies to the proximity of their kiss moments before. “I can’t wait any longer,” Draco almost whined. He inhaled sharply at his shockingly needy tone, trying to get his voice under control. “Please… Can we-” 

“Bloody hell, thought you’d never ask,” Harry rasped, and wandlessly disappeared their clothes. 

Draco let his hands wander carefully all over the tight muscles of his husband’s back, the subtle curve of his arse, and his strong wide thighs. Their chests were touching now, and Harry was ghosting little kisses down the side of Draco’s neck. 

“I want you,” Draco murmured. “I’m desperate… I need you to work me open. Use your tongue on me Harry… Make me hot, and wet, and fuck me ‘till I’m delirious… Can you do that Harry?” Draco could feel the hot sheen of sweat on Harry’s body, and he felt the shiver of his pulse in the hollow of his throat. 

Harry kissed him then, his husband wound up, and hard against Draco’s hips. 

Their teeth clattered against each other, and his husband’s mouth was insistent and searching, with none of the delicacy of his earlier caresses. The next thing Draco knew, Harry had apparated them both to their bedroom. Draco clambered to his knees, casting cushioning spells as he manoeuvred his body into a comfortable position. 

Harry’s tongue dipped expertly between Draco’s arse cheeks, and each touch made Draco wriggle in pleasure, his mouth making noises he’d be _utterly mortified_ by in any other circumstance. And of course, Harry was being a _perfect tease_ , repeating his movements twice, three times and only pressing his tongue in _slightly_ deeper each time he slid his tongue over Draco’s furled, twitching entrance. 

Harry’s hands were everywhere too, stroking a line down Draco’s sides and roughly kneading his backside. Draco luxuriated at the treatment; he was pinned into place, Harry’s touches constant and ever moving. 

And by the time time Harry was pressing himself into Draco, both men were far too excited to take their time. Draco was _quite_ beyond words at Harry’s passionate ministrations, and seemed only able to whimper, and groan. 

Draco had wanted to be delirious, and knew he’d got his desire for nothing filled his mind other Harry’s _touch_ , and his _heat_ , and all the magic that rolled from his body with every hard thrust. Draco felt boneless, unfixed; hardly even able to push back against his lover. Tripping over the edge, he felt for a moment like he was lost in time and space, but then he was coming, _coming hard_ , arching his body with Harry’s name a moan on his lips. 

Harry came for Draco a moment later. Afterwards both men lay together, a tangle of slick limbs on Draco’s pristine white bedsheets. 

Sweaty, satisfied and sated, for once Draco didn’t feel the need to speak. It was enough to share with Harry the joy of a silent home, and the bliss of that rare moment where the only thing that mattered in their lives was each other. 

//// 

Date night, like every other night in Draco’s life, had come to an end. 

In what seemed like only minutes, morning arrived; their floo was chiming and their sons were bounding though, hyper from the sugary Muggle cereals that the Weasley clan favoured (and Draco had entirely forbidden). He was amazed anew at just _how tall_ they were, and _how like_ Harry they both looked, and when he gathered them into his arms, Draco was surprised to realise how much he’d _missed_ them. 

_Accio_ ’ing their son’s football kits, Draco knew they didn’t have long before the slew of weekend activities overtook Harry and himself, and they became suburban parents once more; ferrying their children between friends, sports and trips to Tesco. The magic of their previous night would vanish, becoming just one more memory in their busy, happy lives. 

“I love you”, Draco whispered to his husband “I always have… And I’ll love you forever”. 

And right at that moment, Draco thought he’d never meant those words more. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading xxxx


End file.
